Kelly Money: The Act of Forgiveness

Spring '10 TOC

Today, you walked past me, dream light in your conversation. A simple smile. An inquisitive head tilt. A slight hand squeeze. I soak in this much affection.
Yesterday, you looked my way. Brushed past me for your early morning ritual. A delicate pupil widening.
Two days ago, I entered the spare bedroom to realize one of us is an insubstantial ghost. 
Three days ago, enough tofu stir-fry on the stove for my dinner, your dirty dishes already in the sink.
Four days ago, your overnight bag scrunched on the welcome mat. TV blares behind a locked door.
Five days ago, I returned from work, your soap redolent throughout our empty house.
Six days ago, you packed a bag, small in size but hefty in thought.
A week ago, I crawled, skinning my knees for your forgiveness.

:: TOC ::

Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
© 2012 Naropa University